


Top Sekrit Santa

by CupofTia



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV 2017)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Denmark Street Discord Sekrit Santa 2020, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Post-Troubled Blood, Secret Santa, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:15:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28153722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CupofTia/pseuds/CupofTia
Summary: In a fun attempt to cover all of the prompts in some way there’s a girls night, a trip to a shooting range, a very cute Christmas card, a food shopping outing and Strike and Robin spend Christmas together.Prompts given:1) Overprotecting Cormoran, discreetly scares away people from Robin (could be clients, random people. Think of the "can I wait with you?" - "No you can't" scene)2) Songfic set to Both sides now - Josh Groban feat. Sarah Bareilles3) Vanessa and Wardle take Robin and Cormoran to a shooting range. Robin is eerily good at it. Cormoran is terrified and aroused.4) The Grinch stole Santa's magical hat while he's collecting the UK good/naughty list from his London HQ . The police won't Nicholas Cringle, so he calls the best PIs in London to save Christmas5) "Wait, you were Mary in a school recital? I was forces to be Joseph... Made me hate Christmas that year"
Relationships: Cormoran Strike & Eric Wardle, Robin Ellacott & Cormoran Strike, Robin Ellacott & Ilsa Herbert, Robin Ellacott & Max Priestwood, Robin Ellacott & Michelle Greenstreet, Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike, Sam Barclay & Robin Ellacott & Cormoran Strike, Vanessa Ekwensi & Robin Ellacott
Comments: 31
Kudos: 45
Collections: Denmark Street Discord Sekrit Santa 2020





	1. Ladies Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CagedNightingale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CagedNightingale/gifts).



> Merry Christmas lovely Fede! Bearing in mind you’re ignoring your Grandma on Christmas Day to read this (see earlier ‘scene’ on Discord) I really hope you enjoy it! 🤣
> 
> I went a little crazy and wrote a lot 😁 hope you enjoy all 8 (!) chapters 😂 I managed to cover all of your prompts, but perhaps not in the way you’d expect, some are more little nods to the prompts, but hope you like what I’ve done 😁
> 
> I hope the constant perspective shift doesn’t throw you off, it’s a bit inconsistent! Also sorry if geography/timings/locations aren’t that realistic, I had to use my imagination a bit!
> 
> And in doing all of the prompts I hope I haven’t made the story feel too all over the place. I think the word shoehorn may have been invented for this fic, but, if the shoehorn fits! Hahahahahahahaha. Wow, I make myself laugh. Okay. Moving on.
> 
> I hope you have a wonderful Christmas and I cannot say this enough, hope you enjoy your gift 😘 Merry Christmas!

Robin entered the crowded bar, wondering why on earth she had agreed to come out for drinks so close to Christmas. There were still two weeks to go before the day itself, but judging by how enthusiastically most of the people around her were partying, they had not received that particular memo.

Still, she had promised the girls a night out and she was excited to see them; it had been too long since they had all caught up. Probably not since Cormoran’s birthday. Pushing all thoughts of that particular night from her mind now, Robin made her way towards her three friends, who she had spotted at a nearby table, drinks at the ready.

Having greeted them all and taken off her coat, Robin glanced again at the drinks on the table and noticed just how many there were. She had been hoping to get home sooner rather than later.

“Wow, thanks ladies,” she said, “That’s a lot of wine!”

“Don’t thank us yet, the drinks are a ploy.” Vanessa told her.

“We’re trying to ply you with alcohol.” Ilsa confessed, her eyebrows raised suggestively.

“Sorry to break it you, but you’re not my type.” Robin joked, winking at her.

“Well no, cause only one person fits that description.” Vanessa added, grinning slyly.

“Which is exactly why we want to get you drunk, so you’ll spill the beans!” Ilsa chimed in again, not missing a beat. They were quite the tag team; Robin was starting to regret introducing the two of them.

“Michelle told us there’s weird tension between you two at work but that nothing actually appears to be going on.” Ilsa finished.

Michelle, who had been silent until now, choked on her drink. She hadn’t been working at the agency long, but she already fit in perfectly and her and Robin had grown quite close. She had also been an instant hit with Ilsa and Vanessa on the birthday night that should not be mentioned, though it occurred to Robin now that they might be a bad influence on her.

“I didn’t realize there was a spy in our midst.” Robin said in mock outrage, throwing Michelle an accusatory glance. Her newest friend at least had the decency to look abashed, giving Robin an apologetic grin.

“Nevermind where we got our information,” Ilsa snapped impatiently, “Is it accurate? Please tell me you two are better at hiding a relationship than you are your feelings for each other and that it can’t be the case that Corm still, STILL, hasn’t made a move?! Even after both of your birthdays?!”

Tactfully skating over the former part of that statement, Robin responded to the latter, breaking the news to her devastated friends that, “Nothing has happened between us.”

“So why the tension?” Vanessa prodded suspiciously, going into full interrogation mode.

“There’s no tension!” Robin protested unconvincingly.

“There’s tension Robin,” Michelle countered awkwardly, before she could stop herself, “We’ve all noticed it.”

“You’re a stone cold traitor you know that.” Robin told her.

“Stop blaming Michelle, she’s doing the lord’s work by giving us intel. And stop deflecting! SPILL!” Ilsa’s excitement was progressing more steadily into hysteria with every gulp of wine.

“I don’t know what to tell you! Work has been really busy and stressful, I guess we’re both just tense about that.” Robin shrugged her shoulders, drinking more wine herself to avoid meeting their eyes.

“So this has nothing to do with Corm’s birthday?” Vanessa asked slyly, causing Robin to nearly spit out her drink.

“What? No. Why? Why would it?” Robin said a little too defensively. _What did they know?_

“You two seemed very cosy, that’s all.” Vanessa smirked. Ilsa and Michelle nodded their agreement.

Robin sighed and tried again to convince them, “We’re best friends. We’re allowed to be close. Honestly guys, it’s just work stress.”

Blurred images flashed through Robin’s mind. A moment, or rather, an almost moment, the two of them stood in the office, both far too drunk. Cormoran staring at her lips. Her staring at his. The palpable tension. And then an ill-timed phone call…but maybe she had imagined the whole thing.

“You do look stressed every time the phone rings.” Michelle conceded.

Choosing not to enlighten her friends that this was due to the association she now had with their office phone ringing and the interruption of the moment that may not have been a moment, Robin agreed quickly.

“Exactly. I’m just frustrated.”

“Frustrated?” Vanessa questioned, looking excited.

“Stressed.” Robin corrected.

“You said frustrated.” Ilsa pointed out.

“Well I meant stressed.”

All three of her friends shared a knowing look now.

“Mmhmm,” Vanessa started, sounding thoroughly unconvinced, “Well, whatever is causing you to feel so…frustrated, sorry _stressed_ , I’ve got something that’ll help you blow off steam.”

“Oh god, it’s not a zumba class is it?” Robin asked pulling a revolted face.

“Hell no!” Vanessa laughed. “Something much better. You and Strike are coming by the station for a catch up on that case with Wardle and I Monday morning right? Would you be free afterwards?”

“I was going to catch up on some office work before my surveillance shift but I suppose it could wait, why?”

“All will be revealed.”

 _Oh god_ , thought Robin, _I think I’m going to need more wine._


	2. All Is Revealed

Monday morning came and brought with it a nervous agitation in Robin that she told herself was entirely due to the mysterious surprise Vanessa had planned for her and nothing to do with the fact her and Cormoran would be completely alone together for the first time since his birthday, even if only for a short car journey.

They had been in their shared office together of course, but there had always been other people around. Most notably, Pat and her myriad of office noises that seemed specifically designed to dispel even the idea of sexual tension: methodical typing, vape inhalation and the gentle warbling of her radio.

Yes, Robin told herself, it was definitely not knowing what surprise she had in store that had made her change her outfit three times that morning. Definitely no other reason.

They had agreed last week that Robin would pick Strike up. As she pulled into Denmark street she saw him waiting outside, cigarette in his mouth and looking bleary eyed in the cold morning light. How was it possible that someone could look so good smoking? His habit, far from repelling Robin as smoking probably should, did things to her that made her thankful she was a good enough driver to maintain focus whilst she parked.

“Morning!” Robin said a little too brightly as he got into the car.

“Morning,” Strike said gruffly, “You seem cheerful.”

“I’ve had coffee,” Robin said by way of explanation, glad to have something to blame her nervous energy on, “There’s one for you in the back.”

“Perfect. Thanks.” Strike said, wasting no time in retrieving his drink.

“Well, it’s to make up for the fact you might need to make you own way back from the station, I probably won’t be able to drive you - sorry.”

“Honestly, what kind of taxi service is this?”

“The bugger off kind.” Robin responded, pressing her lips together in amusement.

Cormoran barked a loud laugh at that, but quickly resumed winding her up, loving every second of their easy banter.

“First abandonment, now abuse.” He said mournfully.

“You’ll be making your own way there too if you carry on.” Robin had the sudden, mad urge to smack his leg and blushed at the mere thought. To her immense relief, Strike chose that moment to look out of the window and didn’t notice her pink cheeks.

“Alright, alright,” he said, still grinning, “But in all seriousness, I thought you were coming back to the office afterwards?” He couldn’t help but feel disappointed that he wouldn’t see her for the rest of the day.

“Well, that was until Vanessa planned a surprise for me. Not sure how long it’s going to take.” Robin explained.

“Sounds ominous.”

“Tell me about it.”

It didn’t take them long to get to New Scotland Yard, even with London traffic, and after a thankfully productive meeting with Wardle and Vanessa, Robin was dragged off by the latter, leaving Strike behind.

As Robin parked up at the building Vanessa had directed them to, she took in the sign outside and looked at her friend, confused.

“A training facility?”

“Follow me.” Vanessa said excitedly, leading Robin inside the building, down a maze of corridors, and finally, stopping outside a set of double doors with a sign marked, ‘Target Practice Centre’.

“Ta da!” Vanessa said proudly, spreading her arms wide.

“A shooting range? Are you serious?” Robin asked, incredulous.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never wanted to!” Vanessa grinned.

“Alright I’ve always been a bit curious. But am I even allowed to be doing this?” Robin whispered conspiratorially.

“Well I had to pull a few strings but yeah, we’re good. Consider this your Christmas present!”

Half an hour later, after a compulsory safety briefing and some guidance from her trainer, Danny, Robin held a gun in her hands and couldn’t help smiling at Vanessa’s choice of gift. _And Pat thought Barclay’s Al-Qaeda cards were inappropriate for a young woman!_

* * *

Back at the station, Strike’s curiosity had gotten the better of him when Robin and Vanessa had left.

“Any idea where my partner’s been carted off to and when she’ll be back?” he asked Wardle.

“I have an inkling,” Wardle said, smug that he knew something Strike didn’t for once, “They should be done in an hour or so. I was going to pick Vanessa up afterwards, we’ve got an interview to get to. Want to come and retrieve your partner at the same time?”  
  
“Mmm.” Strike grunted, irritated that he was out of the loop but in no rush to miss out on spending more time with Robin. Though he told himself his decision was purely based on wanting to avoid an uncomfortable tube journey back to the office. “And until then?” He asked.

“Breakfast? Wardle suggested. “I have another case I wouldn’t mind getting your take on to be honest.”

“Go on then. Lucky for you I take fry ups as payment.” Strike said, already halfway out the door at the mention of food.

“I didn’t say I’d pay!” Wardle shouted, hurrying after him.


	3. Well Consider Me Scared and Horny

Leaving the café forty minutes later with their stomachs full and in Wardle’s case, wallet empty, the two of them made their way towards Wardle’s car.

He still wouldn’t tell Strike anything, even when they arrived at the training facility. He just led him into the building with that same smug look on his face and led him down the many corridors.

As they walked, Wardle asked, “How is Robin by the way?”

“Fine,” Strike said suspiciously, “Why?”

“No reason,” Wardle said innocently, “It was nice to catch up with her this morning. Haven’t seen her since _your birthday._ ” He added emphasis to the last two words, smirking once more.

Strike didn’t rise to the bait, but he couldn’t stop his mind wandering back to that night. He was sure there had been something between them, an alcohol fuelled moment, when they’d gone back to the office for more drinks...but perhaps he had imagined it.

Robin certainly hadn’t mentioned it since and Strike felt incredibly frustrated about that. He had hoped after her birthday, The Ritz, the perfume…he thought things would just fall into place. That they’d been on the same page. But things had gone back to how they had been before, until _his_ birthday, where again, it had felt like they’d taken a step forwards.

Then once more, after that confusing, interrupted, possibly imagined moment, they had taken two steps back. Cormoran had driven himself mad raking over every detail, until his old doubts and fears surrounding the business and their friendship set in once more. In the end he had decided it would be best for everyone if he just stopped thinking about Robin romantically. Period.

He supposed that if his life had been a movie, then the scene would have immediately cut from this internal monologue to his reaction upon walking through the doors to the shooting range.

Despite the sign on the door outside and the inevitable conclusion that Robin was here for target practice, nothing could have prepared him for the sight that greeted him. There she was, his Robin, as he had never seen her. She was holding a gun, pointing and shooting with the utmost confidence, and looking like a complete and utter badass. It was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

It looked as though Robin was eerily good at shooting too. He was simultaneously impressed, aroused and truthfully a little scared. Even with his army background, Strike had never been a huge fan of guns. Yet in the same way Robin found his smoking incomprehensibly irresistible, he was drawn to her now like a moth to flame. It was partly that she looked so sure of herself - very sexy - but it was also the slight promise of danger, something that Strike, if he was honest with himself, lived for.

Much to Strike’s displeasure, this glorious image of Robin, now seared onto his retinas, was spoilt by an inexcusably attractive instructor, who was giving her far more help than she needed, grabbing her hips at every opportunity to ‘help her into position’. Like hell he was. He was a sleazy git and as Cormoran watched him put his hands all over her, he wondered how quickly he could get to a gun.

Thankfully, Vanessa chose that moment to come over and say hi.

“You alright, Cormoran? You look a bit flustered.” She said biting her lip to stop herself laughing. Wardle snorted.

Strike, who was still too busy shooting the instructor inside his head to fully notice this, came to himself and said “Yeah, fine.” Deciding he had better remove himself from the situation before he did something stupid, he added, “Gonna wait outside until Robin’s finished, need a smoke.”

Twenty minutes and three cigarettes later, Strike’s blood was still pounding. If it wasn’t the anger over seeing the instructor touch Robin flaring him up, it was the arousal at seeing her with a gun in her hand.Either way, the chances of his heart rate slowing any time soon were fairly slim.

As he pulled out a fourth cigarette, the door opened and the wannabe model posing as Robin’s shooting instructor joined him, smiling.  Smug prick.

“Mind if I join you?” he said, lighting up himself.

_You already have haven’t you._ “Nope.” Strike gave him a forced smile in return, grinding his teeth together.

“You’re Robin’s boss?” Danny asked.

“Partner.” Strike corrected.  _Tosser._

“Right, right. Just work partner though?”

“Yep.” Strike said through gritted teeth.

“She single?” Danny asked hopefully.

Strike turned his head and looked at him through squinted eyes, “Why d’ya ask?” he said, his voice low.

“Thought I might…ask her out.” Danny said, sounding much less sure of himself as he took in Strike’s darkening expression.

Strike met his eyes and stared at him for a few seconds, unblinking, before saying in a calm but deadly voice, “I wouldn’t.”

The doors opened again and Robin came out, her face lighting up when she saw Strike, “Ah, there you are. You didn’t need to wait.”

“Wardle said you’d only be an hour,” Strike said, all trace of his murderous expression vanished, “Time to swing by the office after all?”

“Yeah, sure. I can drop you off and pick up some files.” Robin said sounding pleased. She suddenly caught sight of Danny as Strike’s huge frame moved to stand next to her, “Oh, bye Danny! Thanks again!”

“See ya Robin.” Danny said meekly, avoiding Strike’s menacing glare over Robin’s shoulder.

Strike was very quiet on their drive back to the office. As they listened to weather reports on the radio declaring that the snowfall across the country was getting increasingly worse, Robin chewed her lip worriedly. 

Her unease had nothing to do with the weather and the potential disruption it could cause to her Christmas plans though, and everything to do with her indecision to ask the question circling in her mind. At last she decided it was worth the risk. If Strike was upset with her, she’d rather know.

“Sorry…was it a bit triggering for you, being in a place like that?” She asked cautiously.

“A gun-range, triggering?” He said, his lips curled in the beginnings of a smirk.

“Unintentional pun,” she said, rolling her eyes, but relieved that he wasn’t angry, “But I hope it wasn’t upsetting for you…you seem quiet.”

“No, nothing like that.” Strike murmured. He didn’t need to hear gunfire to be reminded of his days in the army, but it was thoughtful of her, as ever, to consider his feelings. He felt a warm surge of affection spread to his chest upon hearing her concern, which did little to distract from the  other  feelings in his body that had failed to subside since he’d seen her holding a gun. 

“I’m just tired.” He added, realizing he hadn’t elaborated and that Robin was waiting for an explanation.  _And in desperate need of a cold shower,_ he added internally.


	4. Betrayal

The weather continued to worsen over the next week with the snow falling thicker by the day. Train cancellations were increasing in frequency, as were the phone calls Robin received from her mother, asking her if she’d still be able to make it to Masham and if there was any way she could come early. Robin told her again and again that she had to work and that she’d just have to hope the trains would be alright. 

She supposed she could drive up if it came to it, but Robin would prefer not to drive that far in the snow, regardless of how capable she was. If she was completely honest with herself as well, she wasn’t trying that hard to find a solution to how she could get home for Christmas.

In fact, she almost wanted an excuse not to go to Masham. Last year had been close to unbearable. As much as she loved her family - and she really did - she wasn’t sure she could take another Christmas of rumours about herself and Cormoran, questions about her relationship status, or her niece - who was now a toddler and sure to be even more disruptive - giving her sleepless nights.

It was with some relief therefore, that Robin absorbed the news a few days before Christmas that her train was indeed cancelled. She was on her way to the final team meeting of the year and took the opportunity to phone Max and her Mum.

Max didn’t answer and unable to avoid it any longer, Robin broke the news to her Mum. Linda was of course devastated and Robin felt a twinge of guilt, promising to visit for New Year to make up for it if the weather improved. How she would swing that time off she didn’t know, but she supposed she would be working straight through Christmas now. She couldn’t help but feel comforted by the thought.

When she got to the office Barclay and Strike were already there, discussing the weather and Christmas plans whilst Pat typed furiously away at her desk.

“Hiya.” Robin said, taking her coat off and asking Barclay anxiously, “Your Christmas plans still going ahead, Sam?”

“Aye, thank god.” Barclay told her.

“What about your train?” She asked turning to Strike.

“Cancelled. Yours?” He asked in return.

“Cancelled.” Robin said quickly, and was relieved that Max chose that exact moment to call her back, which meant she could avoid any follow up questions, particularly from Pat, who’s head had shot up at Robin’s announcement.

“Oh sorry, I need to take this, it’s Max”, she said, moving towards the door to make the call outside. “He’s already said I could spend Christmas with the two of them if it came to it.” This news seemed to mollify Pat a little.

Not wanting anyone to feel sorry for her, Robin chose to omit the small detail that she had no intention of accepting Max’s offer, just as she had done with Linda. Max and his boyfriend were spending the holidays at the flat and had been expecting Robin to be away. The last thing she wanted was to intrude on their romantic Christmas, however much they insisted they didn’t mind.

She did however, ask Max if she could still stay at the flat at night, which he said was of course fine. But during the day, she was determined to make herself scarce. She was sure she’d find somewhere quiet to get on with some work; somewhere was bound to be open in London, even on Christmas Day. And no-one need ever know.

Or at least, they wouldn’t have needed to, if Michelle hadn’t come up the stairs whilst Robin was in the middle of her call. Unfortunately for Robin, she was overheard lying to Max that, “Ilsa has invited me there for the day”, even though Nick and Ilsa were away this Christmas. They at least had sensibly travelled before the weather got too bad. Robin might have crashed at their place if they didn’t already have another friend catsitting.

Michelle didn’t say anything, but gave Robin a look of severe disapproval. Robin begged her not to tell anyone, and though Michelle didn’t strictly promise she wouldn’t, Robin took her silence as a good sign.

Once Hutchins arrived they started the meeting, which did not last long. Everyone apart from Strike and Robin were keen to get to their families. They managed to cover a lot in a short time however. Cases were finalized, new plans were made, and most importantly, a multitude of cards, chocolates and biscuits were exchanged.

The best card by a mile was a hand crafted one made for the team by Barclay’s young daughter.

As Barclay was gathering his things, Strike, who had taken a particular liking to the card, asked him what the drawing of him and Robin on the front was showing.

“It’s two of yiz, saving Christmas and catching The Grinch after he stole Santa’s magical hat.” Barclay laughed, pointing at the drawing.

“Yeah god Strike, isn’t that obvious?” Robin teased.

“Ah of course” Strike beamed. “But why are we dressed like that? In a suit and big dress?”

“She thinks yiz two are married” Barclay said, biting his lip to keep from laughing at the look on Strike and Robin’s faces and deliberately not meeting Michelle’s eye. “Anyway, Merry Christmas!” and with that he made a hasty retreat.

As Pat had nipped out for lunch, only Michelle was left with Strike and Robin, much to Robin’s dismay. Her friend appeared to be lingering on purpose and she had a mischievous glint in her eye that was greatly concerning.

“Merry Christmas you two!” Michelle told them, “Oh and please reconsider Max’s offer Robin!” She added in a dramatic whisper, just loud enough for Strike, who has popped into the partners’ office, to hear.

“What’s this?” Strike asked, coming back out into the main office and looking between them.

Michelle looked around in faux surprise, as if she’d forgotten he was there. “Oh, it’s just, Robin’s planning to spend Christmas alone.”

Robin mouthed traitor at her from across the room.

“I thought you were spending it with Max? Did he change his mind?” Strike asked surprised.

“She told him she was going to Ilsa’s.” Michelle answered.

“But Nick and Ilsa are away.” Strike stated, giving Robin a quizzical look.

“Exactly!” Michelle said trying not to laugh. “Anyway, I best be off! Merry Christmas” she said, winking at Robin.

 _Yep, it’s official_ , Robin thought bitterly, _Ilsa and Vanessa have been a terrible influence on her_.

Once Michelle had gone, Strike and Robin went back to work in their shared office, but he couldn’t let the matter rest.

“Are you really planning to spend Christmas alone?” He asked tentatively.

“It’s no big deal. Honestly, I’d rather be working.” Robin insisted.

“No, I know. Believe me I know.” Strike smiled at her fondly. “I’ll be alone and I’m probably gonna be working too.”

“Great minds.” She smiled and stared pointedly at her computer screen, keen for him to drop the subject now.

“Yeah…but I’d really rather you weren’t on your own Robin. It’s Christmas!” Strike persisted.

“You just said _you’ll_ be on your own.” She said defensively, crossing her arms now.

“Yeah but I’m a grumpy bugger.” He said, a wry smile at his lips.

“Guess you’ve rubbed off on me then.” She smiled reluctantly back.

Trying desperately not to think about how much he’d like to rub off on her in other ways, Cormoran continued delicately, ”You know you’re welcome to work here, it won’t bother me.”

“Well I was gonna work here every day apart from Christmas anyway,” Robin shrugged, “Didn’t think you’d mind, but I don’t want to be in your way Christmas Day.”

“I’ll only be lazing around…you could always join me?” His throat had suddenly gone very dry.

“Spend Christmas day with you? In the office?” Robin asked incredulously, sure he must be joking.

“Well I actually meant the flat.” Strike said seriously, staring determinedly at his own screen now.

When Robin didn’t respond, he risked a glance at her. She was staring at him, frozen. She appeared to be buffering.

“I know it’s a long commute to work…” Strike tried to joke, but his attempt at humour did nothing to ease his nerves, or indeed the growing tension in the room.

Finally Robin closed her gaping mouth and stammered, “Just us? On Christmas? In your flat?”

“Unless you’d rather I tell Pat and ask if you can go to hers instead?” Strike said, with all the bravado he could muster.

“What time shall I come round?” Robin said cheerily, hoping Strike couldn’t hear her heart hammering in her chest.


	5. Lightbulb Moment

Robin had stuck steadfastly to her web of lies to her friends and family; Max thought she was at Ilsa’s, Linda, Ilsa and Vanessa thought she was with Max. Michelle to her credit, had kept her secret, having achieved what she’d wanted in forcing Cormoran and Robin together. Robin could only imagine what the rest of them would say if they knew how she was going to spend Christmas.

Sat on her side of their shared desk on Christmas Eve afternoon, Robin wondered how best to broach the subject of the following day with her partner. They hadn’t spoken much more about their pending plans and the fact they were casually going to be spending Christmas together. Like it was no big deal. In fact they hadn’t spoken much at all since Pat had left an hour previously, finishing early for the holidays. Robin hoped that their current silence was not a sign of things to come.

Deciding that she should start the conversation with what she imagined would be Cormoran’s main Christmas priority, she asked, “So what do you wanna do about food?”

“Eat a fuck load of it.” Was his immediate response.

“Very funny,” Robin laughed, “No I mean, Christmas meal wise, what d’ya wanna do? Shall we go out or…?”

“We’ll never get a table now. Plus I hate pubs at Christmas. Far too full of people, they’ve ruined pubs.” Cormoran said, grinning.

Smiling in return at his self-deprecating reference to the first night she had seen him drunk, Robin suggested, “Takeway then? I’m sure something will be open.”

“Or, I could cook?”

“A Christmas dinner?” Robin asked startled at the prospect.

“Well as frequently as my miniscule kitchen produces such large banquets, no, I was actually thinking something a bit more small scale, but still festive, like…turkey curry?”

“Ooo. Turkey curry, my favourite.”

“Never seen you order turkey with your curry!” Strike protested.

Robin laughed and explained, “No, it’s a Bridget Jones reference. One of my favourite films to watch at Christmas. Although it hasn’t aged all that well.”

“Never seen it. Guessing I shouldn’t if it’s a bit out of date?”

“It’s still a great film…even if you’re supposed to believe the main character is overweight when she actually weighs just under ten stone.” Robin told him, rolling her eyes.

“Christ what would that make me then?” Strike scoffed.

Robin laughed. “Or me?”

“Well you’re perfect” Strike responded automatically, without thinking.

“Sorry?” Robin faltered, sure she had misheard him.

“Nothing.” He said and changed the subject at alarming speed, “So what else do you love to watch then, on Christmas?”

Robin shook herself, _definitely misheard him_. She listed a few of her favourites, “It’s A Wonderful Life. Love Actually. Die Hard.” She finished with a grin. Her mum had always assumed it was her boys who had put that particular movie on time and time again, rather than her daughter.

“Now you’re talking! Now there’s a proper Christmas film.” Strike said enthusiastically.

“It’s especially satisfying to watch Die Hard after Love Actually, so Alan Rickman gets punished.” Robin told him eagerly.

“Uh oh, what did he do?” Strike asked nervously, hoping the answer wasn’t, ‘bought her salted caramel chocolates for Christmas.’

“You’ve not seen that either?” Robin said. “Well, I think we’ll have to rectify that.” Ignoring images that had surfaced in her mind of the two of them cuddled up watching a rom-com, she went back to the very safe topic of food. “So we decided on curry then?”

“Yeah, might need to get a few bits in. Shall we head to the shops in a bit?” Strike asked. “You can pick out what you like then as well.”

“I’ll make a list.” Robin said in what she hoped was a casual tone. She silently prayed that whichever shop they went to would have a very large wine collection.

* * *

As they wandered through the horrendously busy supermarket a few hours later, Strike pushing the trolley they had decided to get and Robin walking alongside him consulting her shopping list, it began to occur to Robin just how intimate food shopping could be.

Being here, with Strike, was a level of domesticity such as they had never experienced. Especially with the context that they were shopping for their first Christmas together. She had always supposed, on the rare occasions that she had allowed her mind to think about it, that their first Christmas together would be as a couple.

But here they were, just friends. Best friends. Partners. Best friends and partners who drink champagne at the Ritz and spend Christmas alone together. Best friends and partners who may or may not have had a moment.

Robin suddenly felt very warm and wondered how on earth she would get through the following day without revealing those feelings she had worked so hard to keep hidden.

Lost in thought, she didn’t immediately hear Strike calling her name, and was startled when he waved his hand in front of her face to grab her attention.

“Sorry! Miles away.” She said, trying not to blush.

“I’m gonna go look at curry sides and stuff, did you want to pick some wine? I’m useless at it anyway.” Strike said gesturing towards the wine aisle.

Robin smiled weakly and agreed, completely unaware of Strike’s own rising panic which was in fact the reason he had suddenly felt the need to go in search of naan bread alone.

As he stared intently at the available sundries, Strike tried to calm himself down. He was feeling incredibly claustrophobic all of a sudden. Being here in the supermarket with Robin, it was overwhelming. Everything was becoming very real and it scared the shit out of him. Spending Christmas Day together, alone in his flat, it was such a huge step. He hadn’t planned to invite her, it had just sort of happened.

And now the impossible task of hiding his feelings, with her in such close proximity, on Christmas no less, lay before him. Any notions he had previously had regarding not thinking about Robin romantically were well and truly out of the window. Though he supposed they always had been.

Now that he acknowledged that, he was petrified. He couldn’t fight the feeling that opening the door to his flat equated somehow to opening the floodgates of their building relationship. That it would take them past the point of no return. No one step forward, two steps back in this case, just one huge fucking leap into the unknown.

Grabbing whatever was closest on the shelf – he had not really been paying attention – Strike made his way to the wine aisle. As he entered it, he saw Robin trying to choose a bottle; he took a moment, just to look at her. God she was beautiful.

To Strike’s annoyance, he saw a young, nervous looking guy in front of him staring at her as well. He had felt jealous at the shooting range sure, but he told himself that was because that git had put his hands all over Robin. But now, the all consuming jealously he suddenly felt at seeing another man just look at Robin, clarified to him in that moment that his fear was entirely misplaced.

As though a light bulb had gone off in his brain, he realized that he was much more scared of losing Robin, than of losing anything else in his life, even if it was the business. And he knew, then and there, with complete certainty, that he wanted this to be the first of many Christmas that they spent together, for the rest of their lives. All that remained now, was the incredibly daunting task of telling her and hoping she felt the same.

But first things first, he had to deal with this stupid kid. It seemed the young guy’s friend was encouraging him to go and speak to Robin and Strike was infuriated to overhear him saying:

“Go on, go and ask her. Just grab a bottle of wine and ask her if it’s any good. Say you’re useless at choosing wine and ask for her help. She’s alone at Christmas, in the wine aisle, it’s almost too easy.”

Resisting the urge to grab the nearest bottle of wine and smash the guy’s friend over the head with it, Strike swept past them as the young guy stepped forwards with his prop wine, and grabbed the bottle from his hands, “I’ll take that thanks.” Strike growled at him, throwing him a look that could best be described as feral.

He was at Robin’s side before the young guy had time to argue, and seeing Strike and Robin together, he retreated quickly.

“Oh, you did pick some wine then?” Robin said surprised, noticing the bottle in Strike’s hand.

“Inspiration struck.” Strike shrugged, not referring to the wine at all.


	6. Love Actually, Is All Around

Robin woke early on Christmas morning full of nervous excitement for what the day would bring. She had told Strike she would be over after breakfast, having promised Max she’d at least stay home for that. Wanting him and his boyfriend to enjoy staying in bed on their first Christmas morning alone, and keen to kill time, Robin decided to take Wolfgang for a walk.

Poor little Wolfgang wasn’t particularly keen to get out of bed, but was very happy to explore once they got outside. It was a cold day, but it looked like the sun was keen to start shining.

Robin tried to plan an outfit in her head as they walked. It was jumper weather, but she often liked to wear something nice for Christmas dinner. She knew they weren’t having a proper dinner…but it seemed a passable excuse to make herself look nice. She chose not to dwell on the real reason.

Once they got home, Robin took a little longer than usual to get ready, making sure her planned outfit of a cosy but pretty jumper and skirt and tights looked okay.

“You look nice.” Max said as she came upstairs, a pointed look on his face. In an affected casual tone he asked, “Will Cormoran be there today?”

“Yep." Robin smiled. At least that wasn’t exactly a lie.

Since it was Christmas, Robin shared several pieces of bacon with Wolfgang, who it would have been impossible to refuse anything in any case, as he was now wearing a little reindeer costume.

After a lovely breakfast and a quick gift exchange with Max, Robin wished them both a Merry Christmas, gave Wolfgang a final cuddle and made her way towards Strike’s.

Despite the clear roads, her drive did little to calm her building nerves. She wasn’t sure she had ever been so apprehensive to enter Denmark Street, which was quiet and almost deserted with most people inside celebrating with their families.

Cormoran had said the day before to head straight up when she arrived, but it felt very strange, not stopping at the office door and carrying on up the stairs to his flat. Robin couldn’t help feeling that she was taking both literal and metaphorical steps as she continued to climb, her knees shaking slightly as she went. Taking a deep breath outside Cormoran’s door, she braced herself and knocked gingerly.

Strike, who had been nervously pacing behind said door, answered instantly.

“Oh that was quick!” Robin said, caught off guard by the speed of Strike’s appearance and by how nice he looked. “Merry Christmas!”

“Yeah I was just walking past the door when you knocked…” Strike lied, wincing. “Merry Christmas!”

He stood aside to let her pass, and leant down to kiss her cheek on impulse as she did, feeling that he ought to greet her properly. Unfortunately, his nerves combined with her being a moving target meant that he mostly got her wooly hat.

They both laughed awkwardly as though the whole thing was funny and not absolutely mortifying. Strike took extra care closing the door to hide his blazing cheeks whilst Robin stood faffing with her bag just inside his flat, unsure of how to proceed.

“Make yourself at home.” Strike told her when he noticed her just standing there and then offered, “Tea?” in an attempt to distract himself from how lovely she looked.

“Please.” Robin said, taking off her coat and the accursed wooly hat. She cast a furtive glance at Strike while she did so, admiring his outfit. No-one should be allowed to look that good in a jumper. It was disconcerting.

Trying to make conversation whilst the kettle boiled to avoid dwelling on Robin’s own unsettling outfit choice, Strike asked, “Nice morning?”

“Yeah it was thanks, walked Wolfgang, had a nice breakfast. You?”

“Not been up to much.” Strike lied again, thinking about the fact that he’d spent half an hour picking out a jumper and had then rearranged the little furniture he had in his flat to ensure the TV was no longer in the bedroom and that there were two seats available.

Setting Robin’s tea down on the counter, Strike nervously wondered what to do next. They had discussed what to do for dinner, but how were they going to spend the rest of the day? This was all new territory for them. And he still wasn’t sure if they were on the same page.

“So, when do you wanna eat?” he asked helplessly.

“Well we’ve got to gorge ourselves on chocolate before we have any serious thoughts about proper food.” Robin told him, her tone serious but her eyes twinkling.

“Ah of course,” Strike smiled, relaxing slightly, “And whilst we’re eating chocolate? How do you normally spend Christmas?”

“In front of the telly,” Robin admitted, “Though I’m not normally dressed.”

Strike choked violently on his tea, while Robin, who was now scarlet, clarified hastily, “I meant I’m normally in my pyjamas.”

Unsure of how he could possibly respond to that in a safe way, Strike passed over it and suggested, his voice slightly raspy from choking, “We could watch a film?”

Glad of a reason to bury her head in her bag, Robin pulled a DVD out of it, “Well funny you should mention that, as promised…”

Five minutes later, having agreed presents and proper food could wait until later, they were settled into the chairs Strike had arranged, watching Love Actually and eating a tub of sweets. Strike resisted the urge to pop one in Robin’s mouth, as he had once done in the Land Rover.

He had insisted Robin take the one armchair whilst he made do with the other, much more uncomfortable chair. It was worth it to be able to sit so close to her though and to smell her Narcisso perfume so clearly. He wondered if the armchair would smell of it once she’d gone. He hoped it would.

Strike was enjoying the film already, but he was enjoying Robin’s commentary even more. At Emma Thompson’s daughter’s announcement on screen that there was in fact more than one lobster present at the birth of Jesus, Robin expressed mock outrage.

“I can’t believe I could have been a lobster!”

Strike laughed, “You weren’t then, in your nativity?”

“No, I was Mary.”

“You were Mary?” Strike asked surprised, “I was forced to be Joseph. Made me hate Christmas that year.” He frowned, still bitter about the memory.

Robin laughed at his grumpiness, “Why am I not surprised?” she asked teasingly. Then she added thoughtfully, “So if we’d been at the same school, we could have played opposite each other.”

“You’re forgetting the ten year age gap.” Strike mumbled.

“Well, maybe Mary likes an older man.” Robin took a swig of tea as she said this and stared resolutely at the screen. She hadn’t even had any alcohol yet and already she was revealing much more than she planned to. So distracted was she by her own brazenness, she didn’t see Strike nearly fall off his chair at her response.


	7. Stay

The rest of the film thankfully progressed with no further embarrassing moments for either of them. There was still some tension; both were hyper aware of the other’s proximity and nervous about what might happen if they revealed too much to the other, but there was also an ease with which they slipped into watching a film together. Whether due to the slow introduction of alcohol to their day or whether simply because the situation felt so right, any real awkwardness seemed to dissipate.

Strike occasionally joined in with Robin’s commentary, but he became particularly impassioned when Emma Thompson crying in her bedroom filled the screen. “Okay you’re right, Die Hard after this, Alan Rickman needs to get punished!” He said furiously.

“I know.” Robin said sadly. “This scene gets me every time. So heartbreaking.”

Slightly concerned that Robin might be upset by the subject matter, specifically, the discovery of jewellery uncovering an affair, Strike wanted to ask if she was okay. But before he did, she answered his question for him, as though sensing his concern.

“Poor Emma Thompson,” Robin said, “At least I knew Matthew was a prick, she was totally blindsided.”

Strike laughed, relieved and secretly thrilled, as he always was, to hear Robin calling Matthew a prick.

“This song though, gets my every time,” Robin continued emotionally, “Especially now I finally understand what all the fuss about Joni Mitchell is about.”

“I’ve never really listened to her.” Strike said.

“I got really into her music on the Bamborough case actually.” Robin explained. “Though if I’m honest when it comes to this song I prefer the Josh Groban version.”

“Not heard that either.” Strike confessed.

“Shocker.” Robin grinned at him.

“I know - my popular culture knowledge does leave a lot to be desired.” Strike smiled back, “But in the interest of my ongoing education, you can play it for me later, if you like.”

“Love to.” Robin beamed, delighted that he was actively engaging in her interests. It felt like something had shifted between them again, just like with her birthday and then his. Something they’d lost since the ‘moment’. _Was that just him being friendly though?_

Once the film had finished, Strike cleared their mugs, deliberately avoiding the sight of Robin stretching in the armchair, and started on dinner.

“Can I help at all?” Robin asked from her cosy position. She was now wrapped in a blanket Strike had retrieved from his bed for her and she looked adorable.

“No, you stay there with your feet up whilst I slave away in here.” Strike called over his shoulder.

“Alright I will.” Robin told him, burrowing further into the blanket and trying not to obviously inhale the scent of Strike on it.

Strike chuckled to himself but felt the need to say, “Seriously though, s’all good, kitchen’s too tiny for you to help anyway, and you deserve to relax.”

Some time later, after devoted cooking on his part and devoted T.V. watching on Robin’s, Strike announced, “Dinner is served!”

The food unsurprisingly didn’t last long. Strike was quietly very pleased at Robin’s enthusiasm for his cooking, flushing inwardly at every one of her many compliments.

Between his unexpected culinary skill, his insisting she put her feet up and the glass of wine she’d had, Robin was feeling well and truly flustered. She wondered how long she should stay. She didn’t want to disturb Max, but the longer she stayed here, the more at risk she was of giving herself away.

“More wine?” Cormoran asked her, offering the bottle.

“I better not,” Robin said reluctantly, “Got to drive back remember? No tubes on Christmas.”

“Right.” Cormoran said, looking crestfallen all of a sudden.

Robin didn’t know what to do or say next, casting about the room for a change of subject, but finding that nothing presented itself.

Cormoran was frowning into his drink, trying to make a decision. After a minute, he decided and looking directly at her he said, “Stay.”

Robin looked at him, her breath caught in her throat. His tone was pleading and his eyes were filled with an inscrutable emotion. She knew he wasn’t joking, but she wasn’t sure exactly what he was asking.

“I‘ll sleep on the camp bed in the office.” Strike continued, as though he had heard her thoughts. Robin couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed.

Hesitantly she said, “Well if I were to stay, _I’d_ take the camp bed.”

“Well we’ll see who wins that argument.” Strike smiled at her, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, hugely relieved that she hadn’t shot him down. “But you’ll stay?”

“Yeah,” Robin said as calmly as she could, “I’ll stay.” 

“Great! More wine it is then!” Cormoran cheered, pouring her another glass with such enthusiasm that he spilt half of it on the table.


	8. A Christmas Miracle

Whilst Cormoran was cleaning up the wine spillage, Robin took the opportunity to sneak into the kitchen to start washing up, as far as sneaking in Strike’s tiny flat was possible.

“Oi, Ellacott!” He bellowed, “You’re supposed to be relaxing!” He was very keen to show her he could look after her, not that she needed it, especially now she knew how to handle a weapon. But he wanted to make an effort, prove himself. Get it right this time.

“You cooked!” Robin told him stubbornly, secretly enjoying the way her surname sounded on his lips. “I suppose you can dry if you like though?” 

Pleased at this compromise and to have another excuse to be so close to her, Strike set about his task.

Aware again of how domestic their situation was, Robin tried very hard to focus on not dropping the plates in her hand as she washed them. Strike did little to help her concentration by reaching over and gently wiping her cheek with his thumb. Robin gasped.

“Sorry, you’ve got some bubbles” he explained, having acted on autopilot, his hand still hanging awkwardly in the air between them, the tension building. _Is this my moment?_ Strike wondered. _Should I tell her now?_

Robin just stared at him, her heart hammering in her chest. He stared back. She felt her eyes dragging towards his lips and panicked.

“I was going to play you that song!” She shouted wildly, “Here let me find it!” Drying her hands hurriedly she stepped away from the sink, and a very confused Strike, and grabbed her phone.

Loading up Spotify, she played the aforementioned song, leaving her phone on the kitchen table.

“It’s actually Josh Groban feating Sarah Bareilles”, she babbled nervously, heading back towards the sink to continue washing up and ignoring Strike’s gaze, which had followed her every move.

They listened to the song in silence for a couple of minutes, the air thick between them. As the lyrics poured out Robin wondered why on earth she had picked this song. Some of the words hit a little too close to home and she couldn’t help feeling embarrassed.

  
**And if you care, don't let them know**

**Don't give yourself away**

**Tears and fears and feeling proud**

**To say "I love you" right out loud**

  
For Strike, the lyrics (and perhaps all of the grand romantic gestures he had just watched in the film) seemed to have the opposite effect, rallying him from his reverie and giving him a renewed determination.

“Robin.” He said softly, gently removing the plate from her hands and turning her away from the sink. She looked at him like a deer caught in headlights.

He took a deep breath and continued, “There was this moment, on my birthday, maybe I imagined it…Christ…”

Robin, who was paralyzed with shock that he appeared to be acknowledging the elephant in the room, wanted to say, ‘You didn’t’. But before she even had a chance, Strike suddenly blurted out, “Robin…do you know what my favourite part of Christmas is?”

Startled by his increased volume and sudden change of subject, Robin started to say, “I don’t…”

But he didn’t seem to need an answer from her, he ploughed on steadfastly, worried that if he stopped he might lose his nerve.

“Boxing Day!” he announced loudly, “Or whenever it’s all over. When I can get back to peace and quiet. Just me. In my flat.”

“Is this your very convoluted way of asking me to leave?” Robin asked, thoroughly bewildered now and worried that he was trying to tell her he didn’t want any more of these ‘moments’. She dried her hands nervously on her tights.

“No. Christ no!” Strike said, stepping forwards and grabbing her hands in his own. “What I’m trying to say, is…it’s been nice…sharing my…flat…with you.”

She looked at him, brow furrowed.

He continued, desperate to make himself clear, “I didn’t think I was ready for my…flat…to change. For others to be a part of it, or in it I should say. I wasn’t sure there would be…enough room. I thought I’d feel trapped, but actually, it’s nice. I could get used to it.” He said, looking at her fixedly, willing her to understand.

Praying that he was saying what she thought he was, Robin probed cautiously, “I didn’t realize you had such strong feelings about… _your flat_.”

“Oh, I do.” Strike told her earnestly, “I have done, for quite some time now.” For good measure, he lifted her hands to his mouth and placed a fervent kiss to them.

“Oh…” Robin said, trembling now, her throat dry, “Well…I feel the same…about… _your flat_ …I think it’s lovely. In fact, it feels like home.” She smiled up at him, eyes glistening with tears now.

“So I didn’t imagine that moment, on my birthday?” Strike asked her, wanting there to be no room left for confusion.

“No,” Robin laughed slightly, “You didn’t imagine it.”

“And if we hadn’t been interrupted?” Strike asked, cocking one eyebrow suggestively.

“Then I guess…” Robin whispered, closing the distance between them, “It would have looked something like this.”

And with that her lips were on his in a blazing kiss. His hands were cupping her face and her own were grabbing the front of his jumper, pulling him impossibly closer. It was the best feeling either of them had ever experienced and it was some minutes before they broke apart, suddenly dizzy. Hands now tangled in each other’s hair, clothes ruffled, lips swollen and panting heavily, they rested their foreheads against one another, both reluctant for there to be any space between them.

“I don’t think we’re going to need that camp bed after all.” Robin told Strike, grinning up at him mischievously and laughing slightly at the look on his face when she said it, as though all of his Christmases had come at once.


End file.
